


mix tape

by ashintuku



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Mild Language, Mild Suggestive Themes, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 12:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashintuku/pseuds/ashintuku
Summary: in life, it's the little things that stand out. little moments that changes a life in big ways.(a collection of one-shots depicting various points in various characters' lives)





	mix tape

The out world colony of Zahl was the central hub of minerals for the Nova Empire. Laden with rich mineral deposits, the mountains, fields and oceans of the planet were mined daily by hard-working Xandarians for the good of the empire. They mined materials for building ships, and homes, and weapons of mass destruction; mined fuels for transportation and power. Scientists in the high-rises of the largest cities found new uses for the leftover junk that the builders and inventors thought had no use anymore. 

Zahl was a thriving metropolis of trade and discovery and research, and one of Xandar’s most successful colonies to date. A shining beacon that told other, newer colonies ‘one day, you will also be as wonderful as Zahl’. 

Underneath the shine and praise, though, was a shithole of destitution and drug dealing. 

From the pale gold dust that came off certain minerals to the home-spun chemical concoctions that scientists with nothing to lose would slap together in dingy labs, Zahl’s lower levels were filled with workers addicted to one thing or another. 

And if it wasn’t the drugs, it was the violence of being a miner itself; accidents in the mines happening more often than anyone liked to think about, leaving wives and husbands widowed and children orphaned. 

The higher ups tended to ignore the dirty underbelly of Zahl’s working class, too busy advertising how well-off and successful their colony was to the rest of the empire and the galaxy. Corps corruption thrived, deals happened in the dark, and everyone turned a blind eye to the kids running around the streets, picking pockets and trying to find a warm place to sleep. 

It was beauty; it was hell. 

To Kraglin, it was just home. 

Slipping between the crowds on the street, he kept his head lowered and his shoulders hunched; ears pricked to listen to everything around him and try to pick up anything unusual. As he passed people, his hands would twitch, reaching into pockets and purses and whatever he could reach to slip out units like some kind of parlour-trick magician. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes down and the Corps stationed on the streets ignored him just like they ignored every other urchin in the area. 

He slipped away and out of the crowds down a quiet alley after a little while, counting the units he’d made and sighing through his teeth in relief. He could afford to eat tonight. Thank _fuck_. 

Walking down the alley towards the food district (he’d had his eye on one particular vendor for weeks selling hot meat pies that could fill him for an entire _evening_ , he was sure of it) he bumped shoulders with a taller man in a leather jacket. He didn’t even consciously think; his hand flicked out, and he slipped out the loose units that everyone kept in their pockets. It was the stupidity of every race, and he took advantage of it when he could. 

It was only when a large hand grabbed his wrist as he made to keep going that stopped him. 

Eyes widening, the scrawny Xandarian stared up at the scowling blue face of a Centaurian who had definitely been butchered at some point in his life. Where was his _fin_ , even he knew Centaurians had _fins_ ; his ma had called them the whistling fish people a’cause of them. 

“Ya got somethin’ of mine, boy,” a raspy voice, higher than he’d been expecting, said through crooked, sharpened teeth. Kraglin tried to tug out of the Centaurian’s grip, and the man only tightened his hold. “I suggest ya give it back, now.” 

“Leggo,” Kraglin wheezed, tugging on his arm again. “Leggo, c’mon, jus’ leggo, I ain’t done nothin’ t’no one—”

“S’one of the streetpunks, Capt’n,” a rough voice said, and Kraglin glanced over to see an older, fat Xandarian staring down at him with distaste. “I’ve heard of ‘em. Waste of time tryin’ to reason with ‘em, might as well just kill ‘em.” 

Kraglin’s eyes widened and he tugged his arm even harder, now. 

“Wait, no, please, no, don’ – I ain’t _done_ nothin’, I ain’t! Please don’t –”

“Shut it, kid,” the Centaurian said, cutting red eyes over to the Xandarian with a sneer. “I ain’t killin’ kids, Horuz. You know the Code.” 

The Xandarian, Horuz, snorted but didn’t say anything else. The Centaurian – some kind of captain? What was he captain of? He sure as hell wasn’t from the Corps, not even the assholes who liked to corner some of the older kids looked like _this_ – turned back to Kraglin and gave him an appraising look. 

“What’s yer name?” 

“...Obfonteri.” 

The Centaurian gave him a look, and Kraglin shifted and tugged at his arm. 

“...Kraglin Obfonteri.” 

The older man nodded, squeezing his wrist once before letting go. 

“Git.” 

Staring wide-eyed at the captain, unsure what the hell was happening, he got. 

~+~

He sat curled in a tight corner, watching the alley in front of him with wide eyes as he bit into the hot meat pie he’d been able to buy. A second one was wrapped up in a napkin beside him; he’d really made out good today, even considering the run-in with the Centaurian captain and the asshole Horuz. 

Something scuffed, and Kraglin turned just in time to see someone reaching out for his second pie. Without thinking, he reached out, grabbed their neck, and slammed them into the wall behind him. Half-eaten pie forgotten on the ground, he pulled out a shiv and held it tightly to the other urchin’s neck. 

The other urchin was smaller than him, breathing heavily and looking up at him, scared. But he knew the look; he knew the type. He scowled, pressing their face against the wall harder, and moved to stab them in the jugular. 

A whistle echoed down the alley and suddenly a glowing, flying arrow was in front of his face. He froze. 

“Let the nice girl go, now, would’ja?” a familiar drawl sounded, and Kraglin immediately let her go as if she were on fire. He scrambled back from the arrow, breathing heavy as he watched it. The captain came into view just on the other side of the urchin, helping her to her feet. 

“I told ya t’find him, girlie – not provoke ‘em.” 

“Sorry, sir.” 

Yondu snorted, shaking his head and pushing her away. Kraglin saw the flash of units in her hand, and he turned back to the captain, eyes narrowed. 

“The hell?” 

“My names Yondu Udonta,” the Centaurian said after a moment. He picked at his sharp teeth with a nail, looking at him appraisingly. “I’m a Ravager captain.” 

“Why do I care?” Kraglin asked, backing up a little. The arrow followed, before Yondu whistled and it drew back. Watching him suspiciously, Kraglin reached back and grabbed his fallen pie; biting into it and ignoring the dirt and grit sliding down his tongue. He’d eaten worse. He’d _eat_ worse. At least until someone faster than him got him. 

It was shitty; it was hell. 

It was _home_. 

“Yer gonna care, ‘cause I’m offerin’ ya a place on my ship. Yer quick, kid. Scrawny. Can take care of yerself jus’ fine.” Yondu grinned, the arrow loop-da-looping around his head like a kid’s toy. Kraglin squinted. “I could use someone like ya.” 

“Wha’s the catch?” 

“Can’t steal from me no more – fact is, can’t steal from anyone without my say so. But I think gettin’ a bed and hot food three times a day’s worth tha’, don’t you?” 

Kraglin looked down at his half-eaten pie, looked up at Yondu, and stood up. 

“Can I leave if I wanna?” 

“Sure, kid,” Yondu said, shrugging a shoulder. “I ain’t tryin’ ta force ya into shit. But I don’t think you’ll leave.” 

“...can I keep my shiv?” 

Yondu looked at him, before cracking a grin. 

“Shit, boy, I _insist _.”__

__Staring at him for a moment longer, Kraglin shoved the last of his pie into his mouth, leaned down and scooped up his second one, and took a step over to Yondu._ _

__“...I ain’t sharin’ this.”_ _

__Yondu laughed, but didn’t say nothing, and turned around; plucking the arrow out of the air and shoving it back into a holster Kraglin hadn’t seen before._ _

__After a moment, Kraglin followed._ _

__~+~_ _

__The ship was small, and smelled like mothballs and dirty underwear._ _

__The crew were loud, rough, and rowdy, and give him a wide berth after Kraglin nearly gutted someone for accidentally sneaking up on him. He stuck to himself, getting lost in the inner guts of the huge ship; learning how it worked and fixing it when he could._ _

__Yondu was the only one he actually gave a shit about, and that was only barely. He avoided everyone else if he could, and when he couldn’t he stuck to corners and walls, always close to Yondu in the hopes that people would understand he didn’t want to talk to them._ _

__And he watched._ _

__It was how he’d survived Zahl, after all; watching, listening, learning. He watched and he listened and he learned about the plot to mutiny before anyone else who mattered did; and because it was what was done in Zahl, Kraglin took care of it._ _

__Perhaps killing the mutinous first mate in the middle of the mess was not the _best_ decision of his life. He bled a lot more than kids, and it was grey and steaming, and Kraglin stared at the blood on his hands for what felt like hours before he was roughly taken away somewhere by that asshole Horuz. _ _

__But it was the _smart_ thing to do, and the _right_ thing to do, and that was what mattered. _ _

__A’cause at the end of the day, the ship was crowded and it was unfamiliar; it was chaos and it was hell._ _

__But it was home._ _


End file.
